A Lesson On Obedience

“Dad?” I asked.

“Don’t talk to me.” He responded.

3 years later

“Dad?” I asked.

“Don’t talk to me.” He responded.

7 years later

“Dad?” I asked.

“Don’t talk to me.” He responded.

9 Years later

“Son?” He asked.




I am finally old enough to understand that the lessons I’ve learned are mine.

You have not suffered what I have suffered. You have not fought the battles I have fought. You do not dream my dreams. And you have not felt my triumphs.

And while we can share our experiences with each other, they are not “shared experience”

I have a fundamentally different understanding of the meaning of words in some cases.

That doesn’t mean we can’t talk. It doesn’t mean we can’t understand. And it is no excuse for not trying.

In our own experience and truth we find what our callings are.

7 Senryuu… cause haiku are about nature.

bacon strips are…
but sometimes I don’t have them.
this equals sadness…

Ants crawl in my home.
And I burn. I crush. I kill.
Winter? Nowhere’s safe…

Cold hands and warm heart,
her touch somehow still warms me,
outside rarely counts

Kiss me deeply please,
so I cannot e’er forget,
the touch of your lips

A tree stands alone
but if none will ever hear…
Sound? Unimportant

The fire? it can burn.
And this sword? It can bleed you.
Your killer? My hate.

You will forget me…
It is the nature of “things.”
And that’s when I’ll die.


There is a grown up world.


It informs my behavior, shapes my sensibilities, carves the path I ought to walk.


But I do not belong in it. I live in a world of make-believe where I fool nearly everyone and myself.


Here I am the king and we live by -high ideals and talk of -deep things and make promises we have every intention of keeping but likely never will.


It is not a lie. It is just a dream.


It’s not real, but that doesn’t make it not true.


Here the only wars fought are with myself. I have bouts with my duality in the battlefield of my mind,


where my heart fires powerful feelings against


the bastion that is my rock-solid logic which is


ironically held together by faith


and should crumble to the earnest reasoning…


“It will make you happy, do it”


But it doesn’t. The bastion doesn’t crumble.


I have done “it” before and the joy was fleeting. And Icarus kissed the sun and fell burned and broken and I was afraid to hear the rest and though I profess to be bold the truth is I’m safe. Because my world is just make-believe.


Tonight I realized my deepest fear. I realized what it was and how deeply rooted it was and how selfish it is, though it has drawn out the most generous quality in me. I’d let it define me and never even knew.

This has nothing to do with wolves.

Because every hero needs an alter ego